Summatime and the Bloggin's Easy

In a bygone era, back when the world was young and the boundaries of possibility had only been sketched in the broadest strokes, Atlantis knew a spring which seemed never to end. Its people prospered and cast themselves wide across the world, enduring only the hardships they chose to inflict upon themselves in the pursuit of understanding, living bright lives of color and splendor. Then one of them pushed too far, sought the unspeakable and brought the whole system shuddering to a halt and sent their paradise beneath the waves. The Atlanteans, a mild and sympathetic race, inflicted the worst punishment they knew: For ten thousand generations, the bloodline of those who had brought the Golden Age to an end and damned humanity to grunting murder in mud-spackled huts would be mildly uncomfortable in any sort of humidity.

My ancestry makes itself known every summer, chiming in to remind me that Minnesota would be a swamp if it was ten degrees hotter on average. Ick.